Run 'Em Ragged
by Commanderjc
Summary: A group of mountain bandits are pursued by a slow but unshakeable band of mercenaries. A oneshot.


**A/N: This is just something that has always bugged me about M&B- That the horses can go forever without any kind of care. Well, let's see what happens when reality catches up...**

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The Rhodok highlands were, at this time of day and year, enshrouded in mist almost constantly- It was rare when one could see from mountaintop to valley, or vice versa. It was what the bandits, brigands and others who could not function within the law counted on, of course. No one would ever see them coming.

At the base of the mountain known as "Bald-Top" by the tribesmen of the area, one of these ambushes had occured- Six lay dead, their wagon looted. It was not burned, as any would-be arsonist would be hard-pressed to light it up in this weather, and anyways there wasn't time.

The mountain bandits, to their mild surprise, were being followed. This alone wasn't too unusual, since there were always mountain lords wandering around the hills and generally obstructing the unlawful business of harmless raiders. As long as they didn't harm a nobleman or his property, they knew, they would be able to operate with near impunity, provided they remained out of sight. A lord might chase the bandits away on his passage, but it was unlikely that he would make a serious attempt to chase them down.

Whoever was after these bandits, though, was persistent. Nothing was obvious, but Larchias and Olaus, the band's two outriders, had seen the movement of a small army shadowing them. That had been before they rode out to get a better look, and they hadn't come back.

The leader of the mountain raiders was named Bald Lough, after his choice of hideout. Ironically, he had what some had once derisively called 'lady's hair'- long and bright orange. He took pride in it, though, and those mockingbirds had found themselves bereft of some plumage later that night, so their song would be a bit higher pitched. The japes more or less stopped after that.

He was, at the moment, riding towards the center of the band, surrounded on all sides by hardened fighters. Old Rachter, Little Wolly, Blue Arch, they'd all kept alive since the early days, back when they'd just been a few tribesmen looking to feed their families. The families were long gone, but the bandits weren't, and so they kept it up, knowing nothing else.

Even so, Lough felt fear tugging at his mind, some nagging reminder that, yes, he was mortal. It wasn't pleasant, and it annoyed him. They were far faster than some mountain lord, and they were on horseback.

The band had moved from the mountainside and into the valley, where the tight-rooted trees of the Rhodok lands both sheltered and blinded them from the outside. If Larchias and Olaus had been caught, the band wouldn't know that the enemy was near until they saw the arrows.

Of course, that would never happen, right?

At that same moment, one of the horses ahead stumbled, and Lough's heart leapt into his chest. Under attack? Already? Impossible! His hand went for his blade, hesitated for a moment, and reached for the bow he had hanging in a holster at his side.

"Hold! Hold!" The voice of the bandit on the ground was hoarse. "'E's hurt his leg, I think!"

Lough relaxed slightly, his metaphorical hackles lowering. Around him, he realized, the others were doing the same. They were on edge and were driving the horses too hard.

"Do you have another?" he asked, his horse cantering up alongside the man, whose name Lough couldn't recall. "A spare, or a relief?"

"No, chief! We didn't take any from the hideout!" The grounded bandit looked around with wild eyes. "Does anyone got another?" There was a general avoidance of eyes and coughs. "Or... Or can I ride with-"

Lough gritted his teeth and made his decision. "Head away from the hideout. Away from us. They'll ignore you, you're on foot." He raised his head and looked at the others, or at their outlines in the mists. "The rest of you, we're riding towards Blackcliff. We'll meet up with Palmer's band and see if we can shake this lot." He spurred his horse forward, the exhausted beast protesting as it went.

The bandit he was leaving protested as well. "You're leaving me?" he wailed, running to try and follow.

No one spared him a glance, but a few muttered a 'good luck' before riding ahead and vanishing into the mist, leaving their brother behind.

He stood there for a moment, before crashing into the undergrowth, terrified tears streaming down his face. He knew this area, it would lead up to the mountain before too long. He could make it, he was sure, if he just kept off the trails and kept an ear out.

He made it for about an hour.

A crossbow bolt struck him in the front, piercing the boiled leather his kind called armor and crushing his lungs. He died without a sound, dropping face first to the forest floor. Before too long, his killer moved to investigate, oiled mail stuffed with cloth to muffle the sound of its metal links. He turned the bandit over and nodded. Others began to move from the forests, horsemen and infantry both, moving at a march. Slow, compared to their quarry's wild flight, but far more sustainable.

They gave the bandits three hours until they lost more horses.

In fact, another man's mount fell out from under him only half an hour after the first, simply dying where it ran. Having been going at full pelt (or as close as they dared) for nearly a day, the malnourished mountain horses simply couldn't keep up with the demands. Lough ordered the band to slow then, and soon they were moving at a pace footmen could have kept up with. They were coming on to rocky hills, he knew, and nothing less than a Khergit steppe horse could have gotten up that at a run.

It was then that Lough reflected on the fact that the lack of suitable horseland might in fact be why the Rhodok army eschewed use of them entirely.

They were going to be caught, he realized. Not for a little while, but soon, and unless a Swadian lord happened to come riding over to the unintentional rescue there wasn't much they could do about it.

But maybe...

"Abandon the horses," he said. "We'll head for the rocks. They may call themselves mountain men, but we've got more experience then they'll ever have!" It was a pitiful attempt, but maybe- just maybe- they could lose the soldiers in the cliffs.

The horses were whipped into a frenzy and shooed in the other direction- With any luck, their pursuers would assume the band had split up and divide their forces, but Lough had no intention of testing his luck that way. He had his men running, now, and he knew they'd last shorter than the horses had, exhausted by the riding. They had to pick their way over rocks the size of carriages while working their way along cliffs. A stumble or misstep would be fatal here.

The fog thinned, and ahead stretched the cliffs. They were all named, and though Lough did not know them by heart he recognized a few. The collection of rocky spires topped with tiny groves of tough trees, those were the Green Sisters, and ahead he could see the outline of Blackcliff- A great sloped mountain that dropped off abruptly at one side, all dark rock. Even the bravest lords kept well clear of Blackcliff- Albero Palmer's gang were tough enough to give even an army trouble, if they wanted to, and it was said he kept a trained Vaegir bear as his guard. If Lough could make it...

A shout came from behind him, not of words but of pain. A bandit dropped, hit by a bolt that looked more like a spear.

Ah, but it never could be that simple, could it?

Lough spun, fumbling to string his bow. The others reacted slower, shouts of shock and rage ringing as they turned to face the sloping rocks behind them. The army that had been tracking them- How had they gotten so close?- was at the bottom, and two dozen crossbows had begun unloading their deadly rain on the bandits. A shield wall of infantry was making its way up the slopes, accompanied by a half dozen horsemen. He wondered how they had gotten their horses through the hills that had so incapacitated hismen- slowly, he imagined, but steadily. There'd be no escape from them, not now.

There would only be a fight, and he had no doubts about its end.

"Come on, boys. We'll give the bastards something to remember us by!" Lough dropped his bow- it wouldn't do any good, after all, and drew the sword he had at his side. His men followed suit, although some kept their bows. Now a constant rain of bolts was all around them, shattering on the rocks for the most part. Here and there, a bandit fell, but this wouldn't be a quiet slaughter at range.

Lough led a wild charge towards the advancing shield wall, closing his eyes as he ran. He let out a wild shout, screaming "For the mountains!"

A spear caught him in the upper right before he even reached the shield wall, thrust in the gap between shields to send him spinning to the ground. The front rank of soldiers- too late, he saw that they wore the distinctive fullhelms of Rhodok seargants- raised hammers and heavy blades. In moments, the fight was over- Old Rachter took a hammer to the head and split like an old melon, Little Wolly went down with half his chest attached to a spiked club, and Blue Arch was spit on a lance by a spearman in the second rank. Those who didn't die quickly turned and ran.

Lough dragged himself away, the shieldwall breaking up as the soldiers threw themselves after the fleeing bandits. He watched them go, wondering if maybe some god might smile upon them- They were close, so close, Palmer might send out some men to save them...

But no gods were listening, and one by one the fleeing men were cut down.

Having managed to prop himself up against a rock, Lough stared blankly as one of the horsemen approached, a heavily armored male with the heraldry of a white hawk on a black background. Not a Rhodok by birth, then- That wasn't one of their signs. The man dismounted and neared Lough.

Neither of them spoke. The knight- if that was who he was- tilted his head this way and that, appraising the bandit chief. Then he gestured at one of his men, who stepped forward with a crossbow in arms and handed him it.

Then the knight spoke, his voice dry and tired. "When you meet those villagers in the next life, send them my regards."

Lough grinned despite the pain. "And a fine day to you too, bastard," he said. Fine last words, all things considered.

The crossbow fired. The bandit died.


End file.
